


love and truth, where are you?

by themetgayla



Series: merthur fics [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Fluff, Getting Together, Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: Years after the events of The Sins of the Father (2x08), Arthur wants to know the truth about his mother’s death.“Don’t you think you’ve lied enough?” It’s a low blow, they both know it. Merlin can tell Arthur regrets it as soon as he says it, because he drops his head into his hands and rubs at his temples, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Just tell me. Please,” he adds, his tone filled with sad resignation.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: merthur fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1440823
Comments: 17
Kudos: 305





	love and truth, where are you?

**Author's Note:**

> one day i just wondered what a conversation between arthur and merlin would look like if arthur asked him for the truth about his mother. and thus i birthed this fic. it took me a while to write but i just finished it!!

They’re sitting at the table in Arthur’s room. They’ve just finished eating - these days Merlin is invited to eat with the King; a loving offer under the guise of _you’re not eating enough_ \- and conversation has lulled.

Merlin’s watching Arthur, who’s absent-mindedly picking the stalks off his grapes. He’s glowing, face illuminated in the candlelight. He looks angelic, too pure for the mortal plane. (Yet, ironically, it’s Merlin who’s immortal. Merlin, who’s terrified of death, despite his alarmingly frequent exposure to it and notable willingness to throw himself in the face of it if it means protecting Arthur.)

“You were lying, weren’t you?” Arthur’s soft, quiet voice snaps him from his reverie. Merlin shakes his head imperceptibly and processes the question. His brows furrow in confusion.

“About what?” There’s an embarrassingly large list of things Arthur could be referencing, and Merlin isn’t quite sure he wants to hear the words that are about to fall into the silence.

Arthur swallows, visibly uncomfortable, and shifts in his seat. He looks far from intimidating in his casual clothes, nothing like how he does all dressed up in his armour, ready to enter battle and slay whoever he has to. There’s a timid vulnerability to him now, a vulnerability Merlin has only had the privilege of seeing on a handful of occasions.

“About my mother,” Arthur starts. “It really was her, wasn’t it? She was telling the truth about my father. Morgause wasn’t making it up.”

Merlin’s heart sinks, and his stomach twists. This is a conversation he’d hoped he’d never have to have, a topic he’d desperately hoped that Arthur would have forgotten about. Clearly not.

It isn’t because he doesn’t want Arthur to know the truth, it’s because he knows he’ll either be upset or angry, and Merlin isn’t sure he can handle either. Arthur lashes out when he’s angry - it inevitably leads to them arguing, and ends with a guilty Arthur turning up at Gaius’ chambers to apologise - and pushes people away when he’s upset. No matter how much Merlin might fight him on it, insisting that he at least sit in the corner so he isn’t so alone, Arthur won’t hear it. That usually ends with Arthur apologising too.

(Arthur’s very apologetic lately. Merlin doesn’t like it.)

“I really couldn’t say.” Merlin keeps his voice neutral in a way he knows that’ll annoy Arthur; it isn’t deliberate, but it’s necessary to stop himself telling Arthur the truth like he wants to.

“Don’t lie to me, Merlin,” Arthur says, almost pleadingly.

Merlin’s heart clenches, his stomach knotting. He hates this, hates the way he can barely contain his emotion, the way he can barely stop himself. He feels weak. What happened to the man who could lie through his teeth without guilt? He’s been through too much to be that person anymore. “Sire—”

“Don’t you think you’ve lied enough?” It’s a low blow, they both know it. Merlin can tell Arthur regrets it as soon as he says it, because he drops his head into his hands and rubs at his temples, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Just tell me. _Please_ ,” he adds, his tone filled with sad resignation.

Merlin doesn't have it in him to lie anymore. As hurtful it is to hear Arthur use his magic against him, he knows it’s true. He’s lied every single day for most of his life, to Arthur more than anyone else. He knows Arthur’s still upset about it, even after all this time. He gets it, though; he’d be upset too if the roles had been reversed. He can’t deny his King the truth.

“Yes, she was telling the truth,” he admits quietly.

Silence. Then Arthur sighs, as though the words have only confirmed what he’d suspected. Merlin wonders what he’ll say, whether he’ll be upset or angry. Or both.

“Why did you stop me from killing my father?” It’s a loaded question, one Merlin could give a dozen different responses to. He considers lying, saying that he’d cared about Uther’s life, about what happened to him, but he discards the idea immediately; he won’t insult Arthur’s intelligence like that.

“I knew you’d never forgive yourself.”

Arthur scoffs, as though he doesn’t believe it. “He would have had you burnt if he knew the truth about you,” he counters. Merlin doesn’t think it’s a valid rebuttal - both statements are true, and coexisted for a long time.

Merlin purses his lips, and looks towards the fire that’s roaring away across the room. “I’m well aware of that, thank you,” he snipes, though there’s no venom in it. He just sounds tired.

Arthur doesn’t rise to it, just shifts in his seat again and takes a long sip of wine. “So why didn’t you let me kill him? It would have been in your interest to let him die.”

It’s annoyingly true, and Merlin doesn’t really have a good response for it. How can he openly admit that he cared a whole lot more about Arthur’s feelings than his own safety? He’d have protected Uther until his deathbed if only to save Arthur the pain of mourning his death. Some would say it’s masochistic, but he just calls it love.

“I knew you’d regret it. I had to stop you.”

“That’s very selfless of you,” Arthur says. His voice has an edge to it, as though he knows there’s something Merlin isn’t telling him. He doesn’t push. Perhaps he knows it would be pointless - Merlin will carry his secret love for Arthur in his heart until his dying day. Merlin shrugs. “As much as I loved my father, I can’t believe he did that.”

“Mm.”

“I know there’s no point getting angry over it, not now that he’s… gone, but it’s just— I can’t believe he would persecute those who used magic just to ease his guilt.” Arthur curls his fingers into fists, clenching them tightly in an attempt to release some of his pent-up energy. Clearly unsatisfied, he rises abruptly from his chair and begins pacing, jaw tense.

Just watching him is making Merlin antsy. He forces his shoulders to relax and tucks his hands under his thighs to quell the urge to start tapping at the tabletop. “It’s pretty hypocritical,” he says, voice neutral again.

Arthur lets out a surprised exclamation, a noise of clear disbelief. He turns to Merlin, eyebrows raised, fists unclenching to leave his arms hanging limply by his sides. He looks uncharacteristically lost for words; Arthur _always_ has something to say. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Aren’t you angry about it?”

“I guess,” Merlin says, shrugging. “But Arthur, you have to remember that the whole time Uther was King, he never shut up about how evil magic was, how it corrupted your soul, how everyone who practiced it deserved to burn for eternity. I’m used to it. It doesn’t really bother me anymore.” He’s aiming to sound emotionless, but the way his voice cracks at the end gives him away. He isn’t lying though - he really has got used to the whole ‘magic is evil’ shtick.

Arthur considers Merlin’s words for a moment, appears to accept them, and then frowns. He pauses in his pacing - thank the gods; it really was starting to get irritating - and turns to stare at his friend. “It used to though?” Merlin wonders why he’s even asking.

“Yeah, it really did,” he says. He debates whether to be completely honest and lay his heart bare for Arthur. He almost decides against it, but the way his King is staring at him, ocean eyes soft and understanding, makes Merlin change his mind. “I felt worthless if I couldn’t use my magic. It’s my only skill. Without it, I’m nothing.”

“No, Merlin. You’re wrong.”

Merlin blinks. “What—”

Arthur walks forward until he’s just a few inches from where Merlin is sat, gazing up at him. “You are _not_ worthless,” he says firmly. “You’re the best man— the best _person_ I’ve ever known. You’re brave, compassionate, and kind. You give so selflessly and never expect anything in return. I admire you. Please never feel worthless; you’re amazing.” The sincerity of the King’s tone is striking. The nature of their relationship is light-hearted in a way that doesn’t allow much room for meaningful words.

(Privately, Merlin speculates that the reason they so religiously avoid talking about their feelings is their secret love for each other, but he’ll never admit that out loud, and certainly not to Arthur.)

Merlin hopes the way he wipes at his eyes is subtle, but from the amused quirk of Arthur’s lips, he knows he’s been spotted. “Thank you, Sire.” The honorary slips out without him meaning it to. He can’t pass it off to instinct, because since when does he call Arthur anything but his name? Perhaps it’s to compensate for the vulnerable exchange of emotion that’s just taken place.

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur huffs. “Aren’t we past those titles?” He says it lightly, teasingly, but there’s an edge to his tone, as though forcing the words past his lips pains him.

Merlin swallows uncomfortably, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The motion catches Arthur’s eyes and he stares at his friend’s throat, mesmerised. “Sorry,” he mumbles, fiddling with the hem of his thin jacket.

“It’s alright.”

“Are you tired?” Merlin asks, desperate to change the subject. His stomach is in knots; he just wants to curl up in bed and play Arthur’s words on repeat all night. His King has never spoken such kind words to him before, and it’s a moment he wants to treasure forever.

Arthur blinks slowly, gazing at Merlin in the low light of his chambers. “Yeah. Help me get ready for bed?”

Merlin stands on shaky legs and smiles, relieved the conversation is over. “Of course.”

* * *

“Goodnight Arthur.” Merlin blows out the last candle, plunging the room into darkness. He moves towards the door, boots padding softly on the stone floor.

His fingers are wrapped around the door handle, about to pull it open when Arthur’s voice breaks through the silence. “Merlin? Will you—” He pauses. Merlin frowns.

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay with me?” The King’s voice is small, and the way it cracks at the end gives away just how vulnerable he feels.

Merlin can’t imagine how hard it was for him to ask - Arthur had a terribly repressed childhood, desires smothered by Uther’s domineering rule. He’s almost proud, thankful that his consistent gentle words, reminding Arthur that he’s allowed to express himself, are getting through. He can’t imagine denying his friend his wish. “Oh, sure. Let me just get a blanket.” He turns and walks towards a trunk in the corner where he stores the warm winter bedding.

He can almost feel Arthur’s frown from across the room. “Whatever for?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’d rather not sleep without one. The floor is rather cold.” He opens the trunk and pulls out the thicket blanket Arthur has, the expensive wool soft between his fingers.

“You idiot,” Arthur says fondly. Merlin jerks his head up at the teasing insult, turning to look towards the King, even though he can’t see him in the pervasive darkness. “You’ll sleep in my bed.”

Merlin thinks he’s misheard. Arthur asking him to sleep in his bed with him is certainly a new development in their relationship. “In your bed?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?” Arthur sounds defensive now, and Merlin senses him closing in on himself as it happens. He wishes he hadn’t questioned him.

“No no, nothing.” Arthur’s anxious sigh of relief is audible. “Can I go and get my night clothes?”

“Just wear something of mine.”

Merlin’s glad Arthur can’t see his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He’s starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with the man - asking him to stay, offering his bed, allowing him to wear his clothes - it’s very disconcerting.

(He starts to wonder if Morgana’s been talking to him. She always did have a way of getting through to him.)

It’s probably best not to think too much into this new, strange behaviour. He’d rather just make the most of it while it lasts.

“If you say so,” Merlin says, moving over to the wardrobe. Hands trembling, he pulls out an old shirt, one that’s too small for Arthur now, one he hasn’t worn in years. Somehow it still smells of him, and the fabric is soft between his fingers.

Despite the darkness, he moves behind the screen to change. He’s never been in any state of undress in front of Arthur before, and he isn’t about to start now. His body tells the story of his time on earth, littered with scars and marked with healed wounds.

Arthur knows most of what he’s done for him, but Merlin has never shown him, never allowed him to see the extent of what he’s been through. Perhaps one day, but for now it’s too intimate, too vulnerable.

Pulling the shirt over his head, Merlin’s immediately enveloped in Arthur’s warm, musky scent. It’s a scent he loves more than he’d care to admit. It calms his thumping heart just a little, but he isn’t sure anything could prepare him for having to sleep next to the King, the man he loves, all night.

* * *

They’re lying side by side, a healthy few inches between them. Merlin yearns to move closer, to wrap his legs around Arthur’s and tuck his head into his chest. He can’t, though. That’s what lovers do, and they certainly aren’t.

“Goodnight Merlin,” Arthur says, turning his head towards the man next to him.

“Goodnight, my Lord.”

Arthur groans. “Stop calling me that!” He reaches his arm out to slap Merlin playfully.

“I’m only doing it to annoy you.” The smile is evident 

in his voice. He feels a sudden wave of gratitude for his friendship with Arthur; a kinder master would be hard to come by. The King he serves today is a just, compassionate man, and a far cry from the brash, selfish boy he met all those years ago. To say that he helped shape the man Arthur is today, is an honour.

“I hate you.” Arthur’s hand comes to rest beside Merlin’s, their pinky fingers touching. 

“Nah, you love me,” Merlin teases daringly, half hopeful Arthur will agree, yet terrified of the prospect. 

(It’s unlikely, given his propensity to deflect all attempts at serious displays of emotion, let alone affection.)

“Yeah, I do.” Merlin’s heart jumps into his throat, and he thinks he might choke. Despite the overlaying strength and surety of Arthur’s tone, Merlin detects the slight tremor in his breath, and constricting of his lungs.

In turn, he forces himself to take a deep, measured breath and tells himself that Arthur isn’t lying. There’s no way. Arthur, for all his stoicism, is a terrible liar. 

(The notion of Arthur telling the truth is perhaps more terrifying than the consideration he might be lying.)

Merlin swallows the lump in his throat. “Seriously?” Deep down, he knows Arthur is telling the truth, but he can’t let himself build his hopes high only for them to come crashing down later on. He needs confirmation.

Arthur’s voice is unsure, now, clearly unable to gauge Merlin’s reaction. He wonders if he’s made a fatal mistake. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Is that okay?”

A smile stretches across Merlin’s lips, and he boldly intertwines his fingers with Arthur’s. “Of course it is. I love you too.”

Unable to contain his relief, Arthur squeezes his friend’s— no, _lover’s_ hand and tugs him into his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought 🥺


End file.
